"I like to see a familiar face
And I think home is a beautiful place."
But though "mother," as she says, is a very beautiful word it does not rhyme with "forever." "Other," "brother" and "smother" are the rhymes that I always recommend.
Leonidas has made a great improvement since I had to speak to him so severely last spring. Sly Sarah is quite a clever tale, and before very long Leonidas will find himself writing for Soapy Bits and papers of that calibre. Of this I am sure. His characterization is strong, his style is redolent of bravura and his general atmosphere is fortissimo. The character of the archdeacon might be improved; indeed, if Leonidas is going to send it to The Diocesan Monthly, I should say it must be improved. Why should he slap Sarah's face? No reason is given for this, and it is surely a very questionable action. Human nature may be human nature, but archdeacons are archdeacons. By the way there is only one l in spoonful.
Henry must be careful. This is the third time he has sent me his epic. There are limits.
There is not much demand for tales of this description, Hopeful. But as you say you like writing them I do not see who is to prevent you. If you can get the permission of the local authorities by all means give a reading at the Home for the Half-Witted.
I have no doubt Clapham Rover means well, but he has a lot to learn. There are no events of any kind in the three tales he sends me. The only thing that ever happens is that the hero is kicked downstairs. Even then he lies prostrate in the hall for two days. Surely the maids might have swept him up. Clapham Rover must remember the great words of Demosthenes when he swallowed a pebble on the sea beach: "Action, action, and again action." He was thinking of lawyers, of course, but his words have a lesson for us all.
Ingenuous is the exact opposite of Clapham Rover. I rise from his tale an absolute wreck. "Splash, she was in the river;" "plonk, he was on the floor;" "whiz, a bullet shot past him." Ingenuous must really go more quietly and make a little less noise. Why not write a few essays on some of our lesser known female didactic writers, or some such subjects as "People one is surprised to hear that Dr. Johnson never met?" It would do him a lot of good. But above all he must study that master of Quietism, the incomparable author of The Woman's Touch, The Silent Preacher, Through a College Key-hole.
Parsifal has pained me very much. He sent me a long poem, and after I had given him a very detailed criticism I discovered that he had simply copied out a poem of Wordsworth's familiar to us all from our earliest childhood. I have lost his address, so I cannot tell him privately what I think of him, but it was a dirty trick.
Ciudad Rodrigo (I don't know why he calls himself that; he writes from Balham) sends me an essay on George Borrow. It follows with great fidelity the line of established fact, never deviating into the unknown. After reading it I felt that I did not want to hear any more about George Borrow for a long time.